Fourth Grade Student Found Poems from American Memory Life Histories
Click on the titles to see the original manuscript from which the poem was created
I was born in the city of Edinburgh, Scotland. But when the immigration agent talked to me and five young fellows, he made the states sound so fine, so wonderful, that we were in a hurry to start. The boat on which we came over was loaded with pig iron and as the boat rolled, the iron shifted from side to side. Some of the boys were in the beds, others were playing cards, when an extra hard lurch sent the ones in bed out on the floor, the ones on one side slid across to the other. We came in November, 1884. The immigration agent took us to San Antonio, some went on to California. I had been accustomed to macadamized streets in my native city and those streets in San Antonio were so rough that we held on with both hands. All the vehicles were drawn by mules. My friend at Menard had told us that we had better leave our valuables with him. I didn't have anything except a gold watch, which I had brought from the home country but I was glad I had left it, for the stage was held up. Being out in the open air and in a new country gave me a BIG appetite. |
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To America the "Promised Land!" After a perilous journey of 14 weeks they landed in New York. By means of the Erie Canal and the Great Lakes. America the "Promised Land!" Mr. Stoen purchased a team of oxen and a wagon , as the family was to travel farther west. America the "Promised Land!" Shortly after they came, many pioneers, mostly Scandinavians, went to this part of Wisconsin, and settled. America the "Promised Land!" During the winter months little was done. Mr. Stoen was a carpenter and shoemaker by trade. America the "Promised Land!" In the fall of the year the crops were gathered. when there was a prairie, By the banks of the beautiful "Mississippi." |
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He and his father, stepmother, four brothers left Canada, in search of good land. Had one cow which helped them a great deal. It gave them milk cream from the cream they made butter. Mr. Jones' father bought land for one dollar and twenty-five cents up to one dollar and fifty cents an acre Mr. Jones helped his father raise one or two cows, some chickens, potatoes and wheat. The wheat was sold for thirty-five cents a bushel, good land. |
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I was born in the city of Edinburgh, Scotland. I was apprenticed for seven years and learned the trade of carver, gilder and woodworker, but when the immigration agent talked to me and five other young fellows, he made the states sound so fine, so wonderful, that we were in a hurry to start. The boat on which we came over was loaded with pig iron and as the boat rolled, the iron shifted from side to side, sometimes we were up and again we were `doon'. The immigration agent took us to San Antonio . I had been accustomed to macadamized streets in my native city and those streets in San Antonio were so rough that we held on with both hands. All the vehicles were drawn by mules. The transportation was extremely crude. My first job on a ranch. My work consisted of getting the horses up, hauling wood, crawling under the house for eggs, building fires in the early morn, cutting the bacon, grinding the coffee and all the the other things an inexperienced person might do. I was then 27 years old. |
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I worked the quarries of northern Spain before coming to this country. Stonecutters there told me about Barre. I came here for the adventure of it. I quit my job, got a quart of whisky, and took a train out of North Station. I got goddamn good and drunk on that train. I was a stranger in Barre but not for long. The first night I got in a poker game with Italian stonecutters. And we got drunk again too. I lost money so they liked me. There's a good gang around Barre-Montpelier. They have a damn good time, get along o.k., raise hell, insult each others, play tricks on each other, drink, laugh, sometimes fight, but all in good fun. Every Sunday we go to the Spanish Club, play cards, drink, talk, shoot the dice. I don't think there's no place like it is around here. I came here for the adventure of it. |
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It is pleasant to open the door to Nina's warm kitchen. I love to smell the strong black coffee, slices of salami, the smalI Italian buns that have been oven heated in Nina's warm kitchen. A dish of cereal, bowls of soup, crushed barley or cream soups, a gallon of our red wine, vegetables cooked, a tasty stew in milk. in Nina's warm kitchen. pudding, cottage cheese, cornmeal slabs with vegetable salad in its dressing of olive oil and wine vinegar. Chicken squares of yellow ravioli are the Sunday dishes. in Nina's warm kitchen. spaghetti piled high macaroni, tomato sauce and cheese, a stewed rabbit , cake and pies, All in Nina's warm kitchen. |